


French Breakfast

by ShipmentOfFail



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angela is horny, Angela is hungry, Angela is tired, Breakfast, Coffee, F/F, French cuisine, Married Life, Widow's butt, they lesbianing together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipmentOfFail/pseuds/ShipmentOfFail
Summary: It was too damn early in the morning and she could not possibly raw her wife before breakfast. Or could she?





	French Breakfast

It was a rare day off for the both of them. It should be considered a crime against humanity to spend the morning anywhere but in bed, snuggled up to your lover and exchanging lazy kisses before drifting off to sleep again - or before the snuggles could turn into something more passionate. Doing anything else was a violation of her core principles to Dr. Angela Ziegler, MD, Ph. D, the ever-overworked researcher who liked staying up until the wee hours in hunt of some new medical breakthrough.

When she awoke from her slumber she still felt the pleasant tingle of the prior night inside her. Memories of gasps, slight touches and low whispers made her reach out for a certain warm body next to her - only to find the bed empty; the unique fragrance a mere reminder. Groggily she opened her eyes. She was entangled in the sheets, yet she wasn't able to detect that wonderful nude form of her girlfriend that she fell asleep curled up against. Emptiness was all that greeted her and Angela Ziegler, infamous morning mummy, had already been deprived of the only thing worth waking up to.

Grumpily she swung her legs over the edge. She couldn't be bothered to find the clothes that had been tossed across the room in the darkness and settled for a bathrobe and slippers instead, making minimal effort to straighten out her bed hair. It was too _verdammt_ early in the morning and she needed to find her wife. Or coffee. Or preferably both - which luckily was one of the many benefits of having married said wife.

Long before they had become a thing Angela jokingly used to say that whoever could put up with her morning moods and still greet her with a fresh cup of coffee would make perfect marriage material. And when Amélie had stumbled into her life again - freshly freed from Talon's brainwashing and happy to brighten up the doctor's office days by providing little refreshments and smiles - she turned out to stay faithful to her words.

She followed the noise of rummaging into the kitchen where a mouthwatering sight greeted her. Apparently Amélie had not put much thought into her morning appearance either, having put on nothing but underwear and an oversized shirt which Angela identified as her own. It was a little less generous on the taller body, hiking up every so often and leaving Angela with peeks at glorious purple cheeks while said woman was working on the coffee machine. With every motion the hem of the shirt seemed to lift sporadically and so she found her eyes practically glued to it. She may had been deprived of her favorite way to wake up, but having her wife prepare coffee while jam and fresh croissants and buns were waiting on the kitchen table - it came pretty damn close, Angela thought.

Sleepiness was quickly replaced as a very different kind of heat began rising inside her body. Angela was mesmerized and her digits twitching, yearning to cup and massage that glorious succulent flesh presented in front of her. Vivid images of herself digging her fingers into the plump buttocks while drawing those gorgeous hips closer to her mouth filled her mind. It was too damn early in the morning and she could not possibly raw her wife before breakfast. Or could she?

As much of a tease her wife might be, Amélie had never been opposed to them defiling every single surface of their shared apartment, and Amélie had certainly not been an innocent part in occurrences involving the kitchen table and the counter. And so little space was left for reason as Angela's legs began moving again, the dragging sound of her slippers alarming the Frenchwoman who then turned around to greet her sleepyhead. This angle now gave her a better view on the tattoo on her right thigh, only fueling her imagination even further. She adored all of Amélie tattoos and commonly made a point of showing her just how much, covering every inch of them with kisses and devotion.

“Bonne matinée, chérie.”

Curse her. Angela was already getting in _that_ mood and then her wife decided to use French on her, knowing fully well what her native language did to her. It was outrageous. It was simply not fair. Angela had to act.

She made a beeline for the purple goddess and in a swift, determined motion embraced her from behind, encircling her waist and effectively trapping her against the counter. She nuzzled into her shoulder, murmuring with remaining tiredness in her voice.

“Mmmmh, guten Morgen. You were missing from bed.” she lamented.

Amélie chuckled. “I figured you would like to wake up to fresh coffee. Speaking of, it's almost done.” she defended herself, motioning towards the coffee machine.

Angela sighed into her neck in deep contentment. “Mmmmh, marry me.”

Another chuckle was heard, even warmer than the previous one. “I'm afraid there's only so many times we're allowed to marry each other, _Madame_.”

Instead of giving a witty comeback Angela's mouth had preoccupied itself by peppering tiny butterfly kisses all over Amélie’s neck, who in response had begun to turn her head to accommodate the loving ministrations better. She sighed happily in reaction to the attention she was receiving. Meanwhile Angela's fingers began to slide under the hem of her shirt, sneakily working their way up over the toned stomach until they were cupping Amélie's breasts.

“My, my, someone is eager this morning.” she gasped.

Angela had been making sucking motions on her neck, much to the Frenchwoman's delight, and managed to disconnect her lips just long enough to murmur a reply into her ear: “I can't help it. A sexy French lady making me breakfast in my own kitchen with almost no clothes on? You're just too irresistible.”

She felt a chuckle run through the purple body. “What about your coffee?”

“Hmm, tempting, but it can wait.”

Amélie feigned a gasp. “Who are you and what have you done to my wife?”

The pads of her thumbs were now playing with the sensitive buds of Amélie's breasts, stimulating them in circling motions that drew out delightful little gasps. Angela knew very well how to take advantage of her lack of protective clothing and she was adamant on making good use of it. The attack on her senses made the Frenchwoman arch her back slightly, pushing her hips back into the doctor's, yet there was simply no escape from the devilish fingers of her assailant. She was trapped firmly between the counter and the blonde's warm body - not that she had any intention of being anywhere else.

Damn Amélie. She was acting coy, being a giant tease, and she knew it perfectly well. In another time the playful banter might have provoked a subtle blush from Angela, but in the meantime she had learned to control her body's instincts better and to counter her taunts.

She almost hissed as she leaned up to whisper a husky reply into her ear: “Your wife is going to enjoy her morning coffee. Right after she is thoroughly done with you.” She was not going to take any of this from Amélie.

The Frenchwoman gasped as nimble teeth started nibbling on her earlobe. She had subconsciously been tipping over the counter, barely mindful enough to keep a safe distance from the coffee and the mugs. This position now allowed Angela to take advantage of the angle by letting one of her hands slip lower again into her underwear, eager to find her wetness and grant her mind-boggling pleasure. Two naughty fingers found Amélie's folds, making a digging motion to stimulate her sweet sensitive spot from the outside. She could no longer contain any lewd sounds over being assaulted everywhere at once, noticeably grinding into the blonde's every touch as her fingers curled devilishly to give her more friction.

“Chérie...Mon ange...”

Her pet names were endearing, but she was more than determined to make her moan her real name.

She felt the panting woman grow desperate over the rhythmic motions, her legs instinctively spreading wider to grant her better access. But Angela too needed more, she needed the clothes to go, she had to feel the smooth hot skin move against herself.

Abruptly pulling away she turned her wife around, both hands finding the hem of her shirt again to lift it up. Amélie understood the motion and raised her arms so that the loose piece of clothing could once more be taken off and tossed aside carelessly.

She then dove in to meet the other pair of lips midways which were no less hungry for contact, exchanging heated and lasting kisses, nibbling, teasing, pulling away and repeating the game all over again. Short pecks were followed by longer ones that never failed to take Angela's breath away. She swore she could make out with Amélie all day long, but if her little moans and gasps coupled with a shortness of breath were any indication then her wife had clear needs that Angela felt obliged to tend to first.

Her hands, previously having kept the other body pressed close to her, were now wandering lower again, grabbing Amélie's glorious full derrière and starting to massage it. She squeezed the voluptuous orbs between her fingers, remembering how their mere sight drove her mad earlier, how they shaped her wife's curves in a madly erotic way. Amélie just hummed in approval during her ministrations and eventually the doctor managed to seize her underwear to tug it down the long slender legs. The other woman complied all too eagerly and stepped out of the last drenched piece of clothing that had been covering her lavender skin.

Angela now found herself on her knees in front of the goddess that was her wife, on an eye level with her crotch and the mere scent she emitted made her lose every last piece of sanity. She licked her lips in wild anticipation, imagining how it would be to taste the other woman, to run her tongue through the delicious folds until she was writhing in pleasure against her. Her eyes lifted to take in the panting form of the woman that could now only be described as a hot mess aching for her sweet release, clinging to the kitchen counter to stabilize herself in consideration for her own treacherous legs. Her amber orbs gazed at Angela beggingly, conveyed more than the following words could ever do.

“Chérie...Angela...Please.”

She felt one hand run through her own blonde hair, tugging on it needingly. That was all the encouragement Angela Ziegler needed.

Nudging Amélie's legs to spread apart for her she took a last good look before diving in. Her tongue was relentless, unyielding. Every inch of the woman's drenched folds was explored, her tongue occasionally straying to tease her most sensitive spot before wandering again. Each lick became firmer than the last, nibbling and savoring the delicious flesh to offer her the sweet sensations she had been waiting for.

The purple woman kept running her hands through blonde locks, digging her fingers into the back of her head to pull her closer, encouraging her, telling her that she was doing perfectly fine. Not that Angela was in need of any confirmation. Nevertheless every little gasp and moan she managed to draw from Amélie only urged her on in her quest to pleasure her lovely wife.

She ran her tongue up and down the slit in different patterns, having long learned how to drive the other crazy. Every time she hit an especially tender spot she felt long fingers clench and yank on her hair, yet she found herself hardly caring. She was determined to see this through. Angela was taking her sweet time in teasing until she was confident that she couldn't take it anymore.

"Chérie, I'm-... Oh-..."

She practically melted under the sensual ministrations. Her flexible body slowly eased into a wider stance as her knees grew weaker and weaker. Another sensitive flick of the tongue had her body tense up so that she abruptly tore her fingers away from the blonde mane, her hand now again joining the other one in grabbing the counter firmly and she heavily leaned into her elbows. With Amélie weight now shifting away from her legs Angela wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation. She guided one of the trembling limbs onto her own shoulder and thus gained a better angle to continue the merciless torture.

Angela now started to focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves fully, taking it between her lips and sucking on it attentively. The stimulus was too much and the whole purple body in front of her suddenly went rigid, her back arching sharply to bring her hips even closer to the blonde who fought hard to press back. Amélie gasped and Angela's efforts never once dwindled, keeping up the sucking motions as her lips helped her through the climax, eating her out eagerly and getting totally lost in that scent that had filled her whole being.

Only when she felt the gentle hand return to her temple she dared let go. Her face was guided backwards and tilted up just so that she could meet the dreamily expression in her wife's eyes again. She looked clearly out of breath, satisfied, fulfilled. And thoroughly fucked.

“Hmmm, _exquisite_.” the doctor teased in her wife's language. Angela stood and their arms found their way around another again. She pulled the nude panting body close while she allowed her to catch her breath again, peppering her face with kisses before their lips could lock anew.

“I take that as a sign of approval, Madame?” Angela grinned.

The Frenchwoman sighed in contentment but hadn't lost her sense of smugness yet. “Magnificent, as usual. You must have been eager for breakfast.”

At that remark bashfulness suddenly returned into Angela. Before the sense of embarrassment could overcome her she tried to divert the innuendo. “Breakfast sounds good. I heard there would be coffee as well.”

“Oh, absolutely, and croissants and buns and jam.” she replied, leading the doctor over to sit by the kitchen table, as if totally oblivious to her still very nude state and to what just had happened between them.

“Sit. I’ll get your coffee. And after breakfast, _chérie_ ,”

Amélie turned away to retrieve their coffee mugs.

“You shall be the next serving.”


End file.
